A/N:
About this chapter:
1. It starts right where the last one ended when Alex left after he had confronted Norma with possibly meeting Matt Weary on the day he died and Norma had told Alex about killing her husband.
2. It's FREAKING-FUCKING LONG, almost 10K words. Writing it took over my life and I still can't believe it has turned out to be that long, but I didn't want to split it content-wise because it's a slow buildup of tension that leads to a showdown.
3. It's a wild ride, seriously (at least I think so). This chapter is the reason why I chose the suspense genre for this story. Plus, I really, really needed to write one certain Badass Alex scene after suffering through Season Five (you'll know what I mean when you'll get there). So, buckle up, be strong and enjoy it (I hope).
Warnings (yes, plural):
1. Minor trigger warning for rape. It's only mentioned, no actual rape takes place. So I thinks it's safe to read for everyone, especially considering the rating of the story. However just in case if this is a sensitive subject for you.
2. Character death. I don't want to spoil you, but I'll say this: If you know my stories and my favorite pairing (who could it be? ;)), I'd say it's safe for you to read this and not get your heart broken. If you need to know who dies before reading it, send me a PM and I'll let you know.
The usual disclaimer applies.
It's all about functioning. Don't think, just act. Norma walks up the steps to the house, takes her make-up off, undresses, and goes to bed. She has done this a million times before. After Caleb raped her, after Sam beat her up, after every time life threw another obstacle in her way and she had to get back on her feet. That's what she does. Why would this time be any different?
The next morning there is a knock on her bedroom door. Norma is already awake. That she is able to function under any given circumstances doesn't mean that her demons allow her to have a good night's sleep. It's Dylan, wearing a jacket and carrying a bag he drops on the floor when he comes in. For a moment Norma thinks he changed his mind and will move out.
"No, that's not what this is," Dylan calms her, having caught the thought in her eyes that on any other day would have expressed anger but not today, not with Alex gone and the weight of the world on her shoulders. Today her eyes search for something in his face she can hold on to.
"Then what is it?" Norma asks.
"I'll be gone for a couple of days. These guys I work for… I need to handle something for them." He pauses and waits for her to criticize him or freak out, however she just looks at him, pulling the sheets up under her chin.
"Fine." Norma shrugs.
Dylan keeps a wary eye on her. "Are you ok?" Clearly, she's not. This passive, reluctant version of her is not the way Norma usually reacts.
"Yeah, sure." A smile so fake that even Norma can't pull it off, her face twisted so that it looks as if she was about to cry before she clears her throat and pushes herself up in a sitting position. "Sure," she repeats, her insistence not making the statement truer.
Dylan sits down on the edge of her bed. It feels weird. This is Norman's place, not his.
"I can stay if you want. I don't have to go." He is not certain if this is actually an option. It probably isn't. He already received an advance payment and can't imagine the guys he works for being all sweet and understanding when he tells them he can't do the job because he has to take care of his mother.
It doesn't matter, though, since Norma refuses his offer as he expected her to for several reasons, the two of them being to each other what they are only one of them, "You don't have to stay." She covers one of his hands with hers, squeezing it before she pulls her hand away again, the intimacy too much. Funny how it never seems to be too much with Norman. "I don't feel too well, but your brother is here and can help me." She pauses. "Thank you for offering though."
Dylan fumbles around in his jacket pocket, producing a slip of paper and a pen. He writes something down and puts the slip of paper on the nightstand.
"This is my number where you can reach me. If anything happens, call me."
She has his number; this must be a burner phone, one no one knows about. Norma doesn't question it, simply nods.
"Thank you, Dylan."
He leans over to kiss her on the forehead, the tenderness of the gesture making her tear up. They have come a long way.
Then Dylan is gone, leaving behind the scent of his leather jacket. It reminds Norma of Alex, and suddenly, the pain is overwhelming, flooding through her entire body. She takes a deep breath and gets up. It's all about functioning.
Alex had a hell of a night. He didn't sleep at all. Norma murdered Matt Weary. It hasn't been proven yet, but there are more signs pointing towards it than exonerating her. And she straightaway admitted killing her husband. He shouldn't have run away afterwards because that's what he did. Given what she told him, he should have arrested her, at least brought her in for questioning. However that was the one thing he couldn't do. Can't. He also hasn't informed the Arizona PD or the insurance company. Alex pushes the button of the intercom on his desk, addressing one of his deputies.
"Dave, could you come to my office, please."
In the course of the investigation, they checked Matt Weary's phone records. Unfortunately Weary's provider is one of those discounters that don't store any history of calls or text messages if you have a flat rate. It's not even legal, however these discounters rather pay a penalty charge than make the technical effort. They're like weed, going bankrupt and incorporating new companies all the time. But now they have another number they can check. Alex gives his deputy the number of Norma's cell phone and landline. He can't say what he will do with the results; he just has to know.
"Check if there were any calls or text messages to Weary's number on the day he died or on the days before."
Alex feels sick even saying these words. Maybe he will have proof soon. And then what?
Around noon Norma has almost convinced herself that she can do this. The sun is shining although it is fall, something that so rarely happens in White Pine Bay that it has to mean something. She checks out some guests – they are getting fewer and fewer now that winter is approaching fast – cleans the rooms and feels hungry for the first time during the last 24 hours. Part of her has been waiting for a police car to arrive, for a deputy she doesn't know to get out and arrest her since something tells her Alex wouldn't be able to do this himself. It didn't happen though. So maybe she'll get away with it. Why not? Some people get away with worse all their lives.
But when she walks in the back room behind the motel reception a little later, it's last night all over again, Alex looking at her so disappointed and reproachful that she can't breathe. Norma supports herself against the wall, trying to calm down. It isn't working and she hasn't seen it coming at all, the memories of Alex and her squirming and writhing inside of her like a phantom pain. She has been playing this game all her life, pretended something isn't there, and voilà, it's all gonna be good. Save that nothing is good right now, no matter how hard she tries to pretend.
Norma rushes towards the door of the motel office, locking it and flipping the sign over so that it says closed although the opening hours are not over yet. Her legs turn to jelly; she sinks down on the floor, her back against the door, a desperate sound coming out of her throat that doesn't sound like her voice. Norma sobs convulsively, only the wind and rain outside her witness that have replaced the sun. Deep down she knew all the time that the weather had only been playing a trick on her.
It's a silent dinner with Dylan gone and Norma not in the mood to make conversation. She tried to cover her red eyes that are swollen from crying with fresh makeup, but Norman probably noticed, anyway. He knows her too well. The few words they exchange are dull, hollow.
"Where is the kitchen table?" Norman asks, changing the topic all of a sudden.
"Huh?" Norma is inattentive, tired, the nausea coming and going. Her bad health condition on top of the already strained situation makes things even more complicated.
"The kitchen table," Norman repeats, staring at her.
After Alex had thrown it out, she pulled the table from the dining room over into the kitchen. Alex said he'd buy her a new kitchen table. Well, that probably won't happen anytime soon.
"I threw it out. I didn't like it anymore," Norma half-lies. The storm must have blown it away and torn it to pieces. It feels good to know that the reminder of what Keith Summers did to her has been irrevocably destroyed.
"I'm sorry about what I had to tell you," Norman changes the subject again, his voice softer now.
Sam's death. He had been protecting her all the time. She should be grateful, but all Norma is able to feel since her breakdown at the office is the sense of a profound loss, the intensity of it scaring her. It's all about Alex when she wants to be there for her son. For some reason, though, his concern rather throws her off balance instead of soothing her like it usually does.
"I know, honey," she assures him. It's the least she can do after everything he has done for her.
They eat in silence for a while. Norma senses her son fixating his eyes on her in between. It's a mutual habit. She does this too when she is not as distracted as today. However something about it is different.
"Did something happen yesterday?" Norman inquires. "I saw the sheriff's car when you were down at the office and then you went straight to bed afterwards."
Always watching, always looking out for her. Norman used to be her protective shield against the world. Right now it feels as if he is suffocating her.
"Nothing happened. I was just tired and went to bed early. And if something had happened..." She sniffles. "Maybe it would have been none of your business."
Norma sees the change in her son's eyes, the affection gone, replaced by a coldness that makes her shudder. Why did she say that? It's not like her to treat him like this.
"None of my business? It's you and me. It's always been you and me," he quotes what she uses to tell him whenever times get rough. That it's the two of them against the world. "The cord between..."
"Stop saying that!" Norma strikes on the table, his words enraging her albeit he's right. This is another thing she keeps telling him. That there is a cord between their hearts, making them inseparable. "You can't say that and at the same time tell me all these things about Sam and then Alex comes and questions me about Matt Weary and..."
"Wait!" Norman interrupts her. "Mother… MOTHER!" She has started to breathe fitfully, even more distracted than before. "What about Matt Weary?"
"He told someone he was meeting up with me on the day he died," Norma whispers. "Why would he do that?" She buries her face in her hands, her next words a muffled murmur, "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry, but I had a blackout that day." Norma lowers her hands to look at her son. "And obviously I met him and don't remember although I have no idea why I would have done that. And so I told him. I didn't know what else to do." Her voice has spiraled up to a higher pitch that matches her desperation.
"Told who? Told what?" Norman is getting more and more agitated. "Mother, you are making no sense and this is scaring me."
"That I killed Sam," Norma breathes, calmer now, her voice firmer as she is trying to accept the unacceptable. "I told Alex yesterday that I killed Sam."
Norman stares at her in disbelief and then becomes so angry that his entire body starts to shake. "You did what? How could you do that? Don't you know what is going to happen? He will arrest you, put you in prison. You will be taken away from me."
"Well, so far he hasn't arrested me," Norma snaps at her son. Life is about consequences, but she lives in the moment, always has. Act first, think later. Destroy what's in your way and figure out how to rebuild the ruins afterwards.
Norman has pushed himself in a standing position and so has she. They poise like that, holding each other's gaze. Then Norman breaks their standoff and bolts out of the room.
"Where are you going?"
"I need to think."
"Think about what?"
Her answer are his angry steps that are heading upstairs, away from her.
When Norma wakes up the next morning, she feels strangely calm, perhaps because everything has come out in the open. Whatever will happen, will happen. Maybe things will even fall into place.
There is still no deputy knocking on her door as she is preparing breakfast that Norman ignores because of his persistent anger. He goes straight to school instead, also ignoring her offer to drive him although he will be late if he walks.
Norma's tentative optimism only lasts about an hour or two though. It's not Norman's behavior that eventually gets to her; it's her stomach again. She throws up several times, neither tea nor the rest of Dylan's lemonade he left for her helping, the premonition of an upcoming blackout overshadowing everything else. Nothing will fall into place in her life. Ever.
Alex studies the history of calls and text messages from Norma's phone. It's proof that she had something to do with Matt Weary's death and it isn't at the same time. She didn't call him, at least not from her cell or landline, but she texted him once on the day he died. The man in him reacts angry and jealous. The sheriff reminds himself that all that it means is that someone texted Weary from her phone. It doesn't necessarily mean it was her. Then he remembers that Norma confessed to killing her husband during a blackout and to having another blackout the day Matt Weary died. How much proof does he need?
He walks into the outer office, addressing the deputy who gave the results to him, "Make another appointment with Matt Weary's colleague, Mr. Kinney. I want to question him again."
The deputy hesitates and Alex expects him to ask the obvious, namely why he doesn't want him to bring Norma Bates in for questioning, but then he nods. "Yes, Sheriff."
He is stalling for time. Part of him took into account that Norma would run, but he drove by the motel yesterday and her car was still there, the windows of the house illuminated. He could even make out her silhouette in one window, a sight that made his stomach convulse with worry and longing. Moreover, her son is at school right now, he knows that from a source that is keeping him updated, and she would never leave without him. Norma keeps living her life as if nothing happened. Somehow it doesn't surprise him.
Norma spends the rest of the day in bed until Norman comes home late in the afternoon. He seems to have calmed down a bit, not that much that he is back to being the kind and sweet son he usually is but at least enough so that his mood is somewhere between the rage of last night and who she needs him to be.
He brings her tea, and at some point while she is snoozing, she thinks she feels him pull the sheets over her to keep her warm. The next time she wakes up, it's dark outside already. Norma had no lunch or dinner, but there is a sandwich on her nightstand. Norman must have made it. Just when Norma has taken the last bite, she senses something behind her, turning around to find Norman standing on the threshold of the door connecting their rooms. She startles.
"God, Norman. You scared me."
But there is nothing in his face or posture she would have to be scared of. He looks at her with such love and devotion that it almost breaks her heart.
"Are you feeling better?" he asks.
"Not really. A little maybe. Thanks for the sandwich."
"Do you want to do something? We could watch a movie together. This way you don't have to get up."
"I would love that." She smiles at him.
Norman brings his laptop and they choose an old black and white movie they watched many times together before. It's still fun though. They share a proclivity for all things vintage. Norma rests her head on her son's shoulder as she enjoys the peaceful moment. Maybe this is all she needs to get better and in general, some time for herself and her son taking care of her.
After the movie is over, Norman flips the laptop shut, lingering.
"Can I talk to you about something, mother?"
"Sure."
They are lying side by side in her bed, Norma under the sheets, Norman on top of them, their heads propped against the bedhead. Norman takes her hand.
"I think maybe we should move somewhere else. So much has happened here. I found this beautiful little cottage for us in Oahu."
She has no idea what he is talking about.
"Oahu is one of the top 10 safest places to live. It's especially safe because it's an island. You would love it. We could sell the motel, move there and..."
"What? Norman, stop! What are you talking about? We're not moving. We came here to start over."
He looks at her as if she had lost her mind.
"We can't start over here. Not with the sheriff knowing everything. We have to leave."
"Norman..." She cups his face with both of her hands. "It's sweet of you to make these plans, but I'm your mother and I decide whether we move or not. And..." Norma shrugs. "...we're not." Discussion over.
"Is it because of him?"
The sheriff. Alex.
"No." Although she doesn't know. Maybe it is. There is so much going on.
"So you'd rather stay here with him and risk ending up in jail than move away with me to a safe place?" Norman sits up. She reaches out to touch his shoulder, but he pulls it away from her grasp, his mood getting worse by the minute. Norman turns his head to look at her. There are tears in his eyes. "We're broken. We've tried. We don't belong here anymore. Can't you see that? It's over."
"What do you mean over?"
But he jumps up and walks out on her, something that has become a habit lately. She does not like it one bit.
Feeling better, if only a little, was an illusion; Norma feels worse than she has ever before when she wakes up the next day to Norman talking to someone in the hallway.
"No, no. We're ok; she's ok." He makes a pause, obviously listening to someone she can't hear. A phone call. "No, as I already said, you don't have to come, Dylan. Everything's fine. I'll tell her you called. Bye."
Norma expects her son to come into her room but hears his footsteps going away instead. She considers calling for him, however the mere effort of speaking louder than in a whisper seems to be too much and she dozes off again before she has finished contemplating what to do.
The next time she wakes up, the sun is about to set. Is it still the same day? Norma thinks she remembers hearing the front door close at some point, a key being turned in a lock. The lock of her bedroom door? She can't say for sure, her mind a mess, her mouth dry, and her limbs weak as she fumbles around for something to drink on her nightstand. When she tries to sit up, the room starts to spin.
"Mother?" She didn't hear him come in. God, she feels so bad.
"I'm not feeling well, Norman." She even has trouble breathing. That has never happened before. "I think I need a doctor."
Norma never goes to see a doctor. Doctors are strangers who are not allowed to get a glimpse of her life since it could raise too many questions. The bruise on her arm because someone abused her, the empty pages in her children's shot record because her husband would spend their money on anything but health insurance. But this, this is different. Something is very wrong with her, so wrong that she doesn't even care about having another blackout. Or maybe she already had another and just doesn't remember. Either way, she has to get better, and for once, she isn't able to handle the situation by herself.
Norman has sat down on the edge of her bed like Dylan did a couple of days ago save that he is sitting much closer to her, caressing her hair. She feels filthy, isn't even strong enough to get up and take a shower. Her sheets need to be changed. The house needs to be cleaned. She can't be sick. Then Norma notices that she is wearing a different nightgown, the white one she doesn't like and therefore never wears unless all of her other sleepwear is in the laundry. She pulls at the fabric as if she could take it off by sheer will.
"When did I...? I can't remember..." Talking is so exhausting.
"I changed your clothes," Norman explains. "They were sweat-soaked after last night. Perhaps you had a bad dream." It's what parents do for their children when they are sick and vice versa, and yet, it doesn't feel right. Norman keeps caressing her hair so tenderly, though, and it feels so comforting that Norma's thoughts slip away. All she wants is to go back to sleep. No. She pulls herself together.
"I really don't feel well." A thought comes to her mind. "Call Alex, I mean the sheriff. He said he knows a doctor who might be able to help me." She will figure out how to pay the bill later.
His hand stops caressing her. "The sheriff? Are you still..."
Norma groans. "Not now, Norman. Please. Just call him, ok?"
"Ok, mother." He leans over and kisses her before he stands up.
She expects to hear more talking in the hallway, but there is none. Maybe Norman has gone downstairs to call the sheriff's office from their landline. He's a sweet boy, but this is all a bit much for him. He should have told Dylan to come home. Dylan. Did Norman really talk to him earlier today or did she imagine that? Norma can't say. Norman didn't tell her about Dylan's call as he said he would in her memory or dream, whatever it was. Maybe she should call Dylan herself. Norma looks around carefully so that she doesn't move too fast and gets nauseous. Her cell phone was on her nightstand as well as Dylan's note with the number of his burner phone. However there is nothing on her nightstand right now other than a cup of tea Norman must have left there for her. Did she dream that too? Did Dylan not come to her room when he was about to leave? These are her last coherent thoughts before she drifts off to oblivion.
Cars driving by, the wind freshening, rattling at her bedroom window. Norma slowly comes to herself. It doesn't feel like waking up, rather like recovering consciousness. She stretches. Her limbs don't feel that weak anymore although her mouth is even drier. As far as she remembers, she neither ate nor drank something yesterday. Norma sits up, cautiously turning her head. The dizziness is still there but considerably less than before. Perhaps she doesn't need a doctor after all. She reaches out to take a sip of tea out of the cup that is standing on her nightstand, long cooled down by now, and then hesitates.
If it hadn't been for the fact that she should feel worse after a day without food or beverages but actually feels much better, she never would have paid attention. As it is, though, Norma tries to connect the dots although it is still difficult for her to focus. She had felt quite good the day before yesterday until she drank a lot of tea during breakfast and more of it afterwards. Only then she began to feel sick, drinking even more tea and some lemonade in the process which only made her feel sicker.
Norma thinks about it some more and it seems that whenever she drank tea, she felt bad afterwards, only the demands of her challenging life preventing her from noticing it earlier. Especially since she has been drinking this certain brand of tea for a while now. There was no reason for her to suspect she wouldn't tolerate it. Maybe they changed the composition. Didn't she also feel sick after drinking lemonade? At least sometimes? She can't remember. Maybe it's not the tea or the lemonade but she has developed a food allergy. Either way, there is a pattern. Norma is excited that she found out about it. She needs to tell Norman.
"Sheriff?"
"Yes."
"We have a new witness in the Weary case."
Alex has to suppress a snort. What is it about this case that witness after witness starts popping up weeks after the murder? Considering the way his deputy looks at him, something has come up though, something equally important as the records of Norma's phone or even more.
Questioning Kinney yesterday brought no new insights, of course. The only thing it did, as intended, was buy him more time. Alex keeps up appearances, pretends everything is business as usual while he is sitting at his desk, contemplating what to do. There is a packed bag along with some supplies in the trunk of his car in case this whole thing will blow up in his face and someone superior in the chain of command from the DA's office will tell him to arrest Norma. He knows by now that he will neither turn her in nor stand idly by and watch someone else put her in jail. His grandfather has an old cabin in the woods no one knows about, not even his father. They could go there and from there...he has no idea.
Alex nods and stands up, following his deputy to the back room as he thinks of Norma and the bag in his trunk. Maybe today is the day.
Norma drinks some faucet water in the bathroom and then goes downstairs, her naked feet making no sound on the carpet. She screws up her nose as she reaches the hallway. The house smells as if the rooms haven't been aired out for days. Then she enters the kitchen and gasps. The room is a mess, plates and food everywhere. Where the hell is Norman?
Faint music comes out of the basement. Norma sighs. Norman has to be down there again. Among all the craziness that has been taking place, Norman developed his new hobby. Taxidermy. The father of his classmate that let them stay over during the night of the storm is skilled at taxidermy and Norman decided that this and only this would be his new passion. As if he wasn't the weirdest boy in town already.
Norma opens her mouth to call for her son in order to tell him about her discovery and reprimand him for leaving the kitchen in such a mess. But then she stops. There is something she has to do first.
"So, you saw someone at the lake in the car with Matt Weary on the day he died?" Alex asks. He is so tense that he has to force the words out through clenched teeth. What if that man tells them he saw Norma?
"Yes." The man is about his age but other than that there are no similarities in appearance or personality.
"And you haven't come forward with this information until now because you were fishing illegally there?"
"Yes." He shifts around on his chair as Alex and his deputy exchange a look.
"Did it ever occur to you that an information in a murder case could outweigh your concern to have to pay a fine for unauthorized fishing?" For one moment Alex forgets that this is about a dead man and possibly about Norma. He is just angry in light of some people's selfishness and stupidity.
"Do you know in what town you live?" his deputy inquires before Alex's look silences him.
"Tell us what you saw," Alex demands instead. The moment of truth.
"I saw a man, no, a kid, with him in the car. It looked as if they were arguing."
"So either it wasn't a date or Weary was gay," the deputy states as Alex doesn't know whether he is relieved or confused. "What did the kid look like?"
"I didn't see much. White, rather pale in fact with short, brown hair. Lanky. He wore a sweater. Brown, I guess, or dark blue."
It will be usual procedure from here. Alex raises his eyebrows and his deputy grasps the sign.
"Follow me," he tells the man. "I'll show you some photographs and you'll tell me if you recognize him."
For now, Alex's bag can stay in the trunk.
The phone rings and rings before it goes to voicemail. "You have reached Alexander Romero, Sheriff of White Pine Bay. Leave a message and I'll call you back."
Norma has to smile at that. Alexander. The Big Daddy of White Pine Bay. She needs to tease him with that nickname she secretly has for him. Then her smile fades. She won't have the chance. Of course he wouldn't talk to her considering what happened and what she told him. What was she thinking? That just because she feels better, this feeling somehow magically would solve all of her problems?
"Hi Alex, it's Norma," she starts, anyway. "I've been sick for the last couple of days. So that's why I didn't call you in case you were wondering." He wasn't. Otherwise he would have called her. Or maybe he did and she was asleep. But Norman would have told her, wouldn't he? Suddenly she is not so sure. "Um, I wanted to tell you that…"
She looks around in the kitchen, uncertain what to say next. There is her tea on the countertop and right next to it an unlabeled jar. The rest of the kitchen is messy, but tea and jar are neatly standing there side by side, a measuring cup next to them. It reminds her of chemistry where they had to mix things. They always joked that quantity made the poison and that you could poison people over a long period of time since they would only feel a little sick and not realize what was going on. Her hand that is holding the handset starts to shake.
"Alex…," she is whispering now. Why is she whispering? This is her house. She can make phone calls whenever she wants. Everything's fine. "I just wanted to say that I'm incredibly grateful for what you've done for me and for what you've been to me. And maybe..." Her hand is shaking so badly that she barely can hold the phone anymore. "...maybe you could come over later today because..." Because I think my son is poisoning me and this can't be real and could you please come and help me. But she doesn't have the chance to say any of it.
"Mother?" Norma whips round to find her son standing right behind her and slowly hangs up the phone. "What are you doing?"
"Sheriff?"
"Yes."
"I've got something for you."
This seems to be a pattern today. Whenever he is in his office, trying to find some time for himself to think about things, for example if the statement of the recent eye witness really exonerates Norma for good, one of his deputies interrupts him. Well, he is the sheriff after all. Alex puts his phone down. He left it in his office when they went to talk to the witness, its beep reminding him that he received a voicemail in the meantime, probably from the coroner that had promised to inform him about the results in another murder case. People in White Pine Bay die of unnatural causes on a regular basis.
"Let me just check my phone."
"Trust me you want to know this right away."
Alex snorts. "Is there another witness?"
"No." The deputy glowers. "It's not about the Weary case. It's about Keith Summers. They messed up the DNA results. The lab wrote a long letter to cover their asses so they won't get sued. And they also sent the results of the lost sample."
Alex takes the file and reads, then reads it again. It feels as if someone was dipping his insides in acid. When he is able to look at his deputy, the man raises his eyebrows. "Couldn't believe it either."
"So the first result was correct and they just overlooked the additional sample?" Alex tries to compose himself and understand although this is something he will never be able to understand.
"Yes. They explain it in their letter, affirming the chain of evidence wasn't tampered with despite the delay. Someone just forgot the additional sample in the fridge, for whatever reason, so that it only could be examined now. So the DNA result regarding Summers remains unaffected. It proves that he raped Norma Bates. But the new DNA sample proves that he was not the only one, provided this wasn't consensual which I highly doubt considering the events of that night and Norma Bates' condition."
Alex's head is buzzing. They found traces of Norman's DNA between Norma's legs but not inside her, concluding that it got on her body after Summers had attacked her but while she still had a blackout. Norman tried to rape his mother but didn't go through with it.
"Maybe he tried to, I don't know, help her clean herself or something and that's how his DNA got on her... there," Alex grasps at straws. There has to be a harmless explanation, anything but this.
His deputy stares at him. Alex read the report. It's not like him to miss something like this or deliberately ignore it because the truth is too harsh.
"No," he points at the passage in the file. "They say here that the DNA sample was taken from, um, pre-ejaculate although they also say that it looks as if he tried to wipe it. So maybe that's why he thought no one would find out, including his mother."
A realization in the back of Alex's mind begins to tingle that goes beyond this horrible revelation. Someone sent a message from Norma's phone. A lanky kid with short, brown hair had an argument with Matt Weary. Moreover, Norma never remembered anything about her blackouts. So why would she suddenly remember that she killed her husband? The pieces of the puzzle were all there. He just didn't see them because he was so focused on Norma, blinded by his passion for her, and later on, by his concern. The way Norman looks at her, the way he touches her all the time. Not like a son touches his mother but like a man touches his wife or girlfriend. An obsession that very well might have gotten out of control. Motive.
The result of the DNA sample raises questions as to what really happened the night Keith Summers died, the fact that Norma had blackouts coinciding with the deaths of Keith Summers, Matt Weary and her husband raising more questions that now point to her son rather than to her. It's only a theory, but it looks as if Norman is getting rid of every man he considers an obstacle between him and his mother, most likely trying to convince her to be guilty of deeds she didn't commit to make her even more dependent on him. It makes Alex wonder why he is still alive.
"Do you want me to bring Norman Bates in?"
"No." Alex hands the file back over to his deputy. "I'll handle it myself."
"What are you doing?" Norman repeats.
"Oh, I wanted to make a call, but I changed my mind," Norma tries to play it down although she knows he won't buy it. She's such a bad liar.
"I heard you talking. Whispering," he confronts her.
Norma pretends to think about it. "No, you must have misheard. You know me. I'm talking to myself all the time." She tries to smile but ends up contorting her face.
"No, you're not."
"Norman." This is how they usually play this game. She lies, he knows it and sometimes calls her out on it but always gives in as soon as she gets angry. "As I said, I changed my mind. I didn't call anyone. Let it go at that."
She goes over to the fridge, ignoring the mess in the kitchen and the tea on the countertop although her eyes are inevitably drawn there. Norma can only hope that Norman doesn't notice. Act normal. It's impossible, though, every step feeling as if she is walking underwater. None of this is really happening.
"I'm hungry. I was looking for something to eat." Norma opens the door of the fridge, but Norman pushes it shut again. It's not an aggressive move, rather a slow, deliberate gesture to intimidate her.
"Go back to bed, mother. I'll make you a sandwich."
"I can't live on sandwiches all the time. I'll cook us something."
But when she reaches out her hand to open the door of the fridge again, Norman grabs her wrist to stop her. His grasp never has been so firm before.
"Go back to bed."
He is lanky but taller than her. For a moment, Norman's face overlaps with the faces of other men that threatened or abused Norma. Her father, her brother, her husband. Norman has always been the exception. Norman and then, recently Alex.
"Did you call Alex? Did he give you the doctor's address?" The words are out before Norma has a chance to think it over.
"Yes, I did. You have an appointment on Monday." He is as bad a liar as as she is. Norma knows her son, knows every twitch in his face or of his body that gives it away.
It's as if she is living in two worlds. There is the world in which she came downstairs to make something to eat and is annoyed about her son's new hobby. They will bicker and banter a bit and then have lunch or dinner together and everything will be fine. And then there is this world where the house is a mess, a premonition of impending doom, her son secretly mixing beverages that are slowly poisoning her, perhaps even causing her blackouts.
Albeit Norma is feeling better, she is still weak. It's too much. All of it. She doesn't want to fight anymore. Her urge always has been to create a better life for Norman. What is left fighting for if he has turned against her?
"Ok," she shrugs, uncertain whether she plays along or simply doesn't care anymore. "Thanks." Then she turns around, gesturing upstairs. "You're right. I'll go back to bed." Maybe Alex will listen to her message and come over, maybe he'll delete it unheard. She will let fate decide.
Norman's next words stop her, though, cutting through the haze of her numbing thoughts and feelings, "Did you drink your tea?"
She tears up. How can he do this to her? "Yes, I did," Norma lies, keeping up the charade as long as possible before she gives in and screws up her face, beginning to cry silently. "Norman," she whispers, touching his face because this is her son, the sweetest boy that has ever lived, the person she loves the most in the world, and yet… "What have you done?"
Alex steps on the gas. It takes around 15 minutes to drive from the police station to the motel, but he will make it in half the time today, at a max. His hands grab the wheel even firmer. This is surreal, one nightmare exchanged for the other. He was on the verge of accepting that Norma is a murderer, and now, everything points to her son.
He calls Norma's cell for what must be the 10th time and her voicemail answers immediately like the times before. She must have turned her phone off. Then he remembers the voicemail he received and that he still hasn't listened to. It's not important right now, but when he checks the number, Alex sees that the call came from Norma's landline. Damn. How could he miss that?
It's so good to hear Norma's voice when he presses play that he smiles despite the precarious situation. Hi Alex, it's Norma. I've been sick for the last couple of days. So that's why I didn't call you in case you were wondering. It makes his stomach turn. She was sick and he wasn't there for her. She talks some more, but suddenly the tone of her voice changes and she lowers it to a whisper. I'm incredibly grateful for what you've done for me and for what you've been to me. Her words give him the creeps. They sound like a goodbye. Alex turns the emergency lights on and accelerates even more although he is way beyond the speed limit already. Maybe you could come over later today because… Then there is another voice in the background, possibly Norman even if he can't say for sure, and she hangs up.
It was about a kid possibly murdering men that he sees as a threat to his mother or their relationship. Now it's about a son possibly also threatening his mother. Alex checks the mileage, almost there. He took his eyes off the road only for a split second. When he focuses on the street again, the deer is right in front of his car, the impact inevitable. It must have jumped out of the woods. The car veers off course, turns over and lands on its roof by the roadside.
Norma and her son stare at each other as he slowly opens the drawer closest to him and takes out a knife, the movement so casual that it gives her a chill. He turns the knife in his hand, its sharp tip scratching the fabric of his trousers right above his knee again and again until it cuts through it and through his skin in the process, the tip of the knife stained red now.
"Stop that, Norman, please," Norma whimpers. He doesn't seem to feel any pain, but she feels it for both of them.
"I wanted us to go away together," he says, his voice trembling. "But you didn't want to."
Is he talking about that silly idea that they should move to Oahu?
"I never wanted to hurt you, mother. I told you we needed to get away from here. I told you the sheriff was bad for you, but you wouldn't listen. YOU NEVER LISTEN."
So this is it, the moment of truth?
"Did you try to poison me?" Norma's voice is barely audible. Part of her still hopes there is an explanation that puts it all into perspective.
"What?" Norman looks at the tea and the jar next to it, then back at her. "No! I was trying to make you feel better. You always have so much to endure. First with my father and then with this horrible guy who attacked you. Sometimes it's better to not be aware what's going on, to sleep it off."
Everything Norma thought she knew is called into question. What Norman told her about the way Sam died, perhaps even what he told her about Keith Summers' death. She doesn't know.
"I love you. Everything I have ever done, I have done it for you," Norman continues his rant. "You are my mother. You are my priority. I had to protect you."
What about Matt Weary? Another name, another dead body. What did her son do?
"I love you, too, Norman. You just have to trust me. Can you do that? We need to get you help."
He lowers his head as if he was studying the floor. When he lifts it again, nothing is the same. The son she knows is gone, his eyes cold, his hand raising the knife.
Norma's body reacts before her mind is able to process the situation, an age-old survival instinct kicking in. She criss-crosses the living room, knocking objects over to slow him down. The element of surprise works to her advantage, but Norman is the faster runner of the two of them and her body still weakened. It's only a matter of seconds until he will have caught up with her.
She bolts towards the door of the vestibule to find it locked and changes direction, running up the stairs, almost making it to the upper hallway when she feels Norman gripping her ankle. Norma trips and sprawls, Norman dragging her down towards him. She clings to the handrail, kicking him in order to fend him off. That's when the sharp pain sets in. Norma gasps and almost lets go of the handrail. Norman is clutching at her and at the same time stabbing at her legs, the lower half of her nightgown slowly turning red due to various cuts.
"Stop it, Norman, oh my God, stop it, please," Norma screams, but he doesn't seem to notice. She has to get through to him and forces herself to stop kicking and hold still instead. He doesn't react at first, continuing to cut her several more times. Norma whimpers. The cuts hurt, but they are only superficial. It hurts so much more that it is her son who is doing this to her. Finally Norman realizes that she has stopped fighting with him and looks at her. "Please stop, Norman. You're hurting me."
He crawls upstairs, knife still in his hand, his breath stale when he is so close that she can feel it on her face.
Alex comes around. He has no idea how long he was unconscious, but when he remembers what happened and why he was driving to the Bates Motel, his entire body gives a jerk. He has to get out of here. His cell phone and radio didn't survive the crash, but he is rather unharmed as far as he can tell. Several bruises and perhaps a concussion but no broken bones. He crawls out of the car, groans with pain as he stands up and starts to run.
Norman is practically lying on top of her, his head on her chest, the knife next to her throat although Norma can't say whether he is still threatening her or has forgotten about it. When her hand comes near it, he stirs though, lifting his head to look at her.
"Don't do that," he mumbles.
"Norman, I would never hurt you."
"I would never hurt you either." His words don't make sense, but nothing of this makes any sense.
Norma strokes the back of her son soothingly as if it was an ordinary day and this one of their usual hugs.
"It's ok, Norman. Relax."
His words are a warm wheeze against her neck, "We want peace and happiness, but the world just won't allow it. So let's take ourselves out of the equation."
There is no anger or desperation in his words. It's what makes them even worse. He has come to a decision and it is final. Norma doesn't want to die, but there is no way she will make it past Norman and the knife.
"We can have peace and we can be happy," she pleads with him. "Norman, don't do this."
There is someone at the front door, pounding against it, followed by a rumble. Obviously Norman didn't only lock the doors but also built some barricades. Norma almost starts to cry with relief. It has to be Alex.
Norman hears it too, though, and raises the knife so fast that she almost has no time to react, his face distorted to an ugly version of himself. He is aiming for her heart, but Norma manages to shift her body last-minute so that he only hits her shoulder. The pain is so much worse than anything she has ever felt before in her entire life that she screams, nevertheless trying to push Norman away. It's a lost fight; he is raising the knife again already. What did he say to her a couple of days ago? It's over. She didn't know he meant it literally.
Then, suddenly, a shadow behind Norman, holding some kind of object and knocking him out with it so that he collapses on top of her.
"Norma are you ok? Shit, Norma, that's a lot of blood!"
This is not Alex's voice.
"Dylan? Is that you?" she murmurs as she feels Norman getting pulled away from her.
She tries to sit up but can't control her limbs, her shoulder hurting whenever she moves.
"I'm sorry I didn't come back earlier. I knew something was wrong," Dylan is rambling as he checks her legs and then presses something against her shoulder that makes her scream again. "I'm sorry, Norma, so sorry. I've got to stop the bleeding." He fumbles around with his phone with his other hand. "Yes, this is Dylan Masset. I'm calling from the Bates Motel, Highway 88, please send an ambulance. My mother is badly injured. Stab wound to the shoulder and several other minor injuries."
Norma drifts in and out of consciousness. Dylan's there. Everything is going to be good. Except…
"Norman…," she whispers.
Alex arrives at the motel just as the ambulance drives past him. He wasn't far away when he had the car crash, but he underestimated the distance on foot and is out of breath. For a moment, he thinks he is too late, that Norman ran amok and Norma is dead. Then he sees Dylan up at the house, waving at the paramedics.
"Up here. My mother needs help."
He follows the paramedics inside. They know he's the sheriff and believe he has been officially called to the crime scene. Alex has seen a lot of bad things in his life. He is no stranger to violence, blood, and murder. It's different when it's someone close to you though. When Alex sees Norma lying on the stairs, her nightgown blood-soaked, he stops dead in his tracks. This is different than the night he met her. This time he knows it's her blood.
"She will be ok," Dylan says.
It takes Alex a second to understand that he is talking to him. He doesn't ask why Dylan knows enough about stab wounds to come up with that judgement, grateful for the reassurance.
"What happened?"
"Norman was attacking her when I came in. Stabbing her."
They both watch as the paramedics carry Norma out on a gurney. She is unconscious.
"Where is he now?"
Dylan points at a body lying in the corner of the hallway. "He's not dead. I just had to knock him out. There is something else..." He walks into the kitchen, Alex following him. "My mother told me something about Norman trying to poison her before she passed out and I found this." Dylan raises his chin towards a jar of tea and another jar with an unknown substance standing right next to it.
Alex takes a smell at it and wrinkles his nose. It smells unpleasant, an infallible sign, designed by nature as an instinctual warning that the substance shouldn't be consumed. With enough sugar in her tea, Norma wouldn't have smelled or tasted it though. Alex looks at Norman's body and then back at Dylan.
"Go to the hospital with her."
"What about…?"
"Just go."
The first thing Norman sees when he regains consciousness are shoes, then pants, a belt with a gun and a badge. The sheriff is sitting on the stairs, watching him.
Norman groans and sits up. His head hurts like hell. Then he remembers – his mother who tried to defy his control, his plan that he couldn't execute. Rage builds inside him like a living animal, trying to claw its way out, but he tries to pull himself together. It's all about appearances.
"Are you going to arrest me?"
"No."
That's a surprise.
"Was it you who knocked me out?"
"No. That was your brother."
Even more surprising.
"Where's my mother?"
"At the hospital."
For a moment, Norman's rage is replaced by pain. He loves his mother. He wanted the perfect life for them, but she ruined it. He looks around.
"If you're not going to arrest me, then why are you here?"
Alex takes his gun and slides it over to Norman, pulling another gun out of his ankle holder. "Pick it up."
It's the first time Alex spots fear in Norman's eyes instead of his usual, smug expression, even in a situation like this. Norman doesn't touch the gun, doesn't move.
"I know what you did to your mother," Alex states. "All of it. That you tried to poison her, kill her. That you made her believe she did horrible things when it was you committing all those crimes. But most of all, I know what happened the night Keith Summers died."
Norman pales. "I saved her," he stutters. "That's all I ever wanted, to keep her safe."
"Oh, yeah? And after you saved her, after you knocked Keith Summers out? What did you do then, you sick fuck?" Alex stands up. "What did you do to Matt Weary, and while we're on it, to your father?" Alex pauses. "So you have two options. Either I arrest you or you pick up the gun."
"You said you're not here to arrest me."
"And you said all you ever wanted was to keep your mother safe."
There is a dead calm outside when two shots are fired inside the house. Although Norman aimed for his head, it was easy for Alex to literally dodge the bullet, even at such a short distance. It was obvious that Norman never had fired a gun before. His shot, however, was fatal.
Alex can't allow this kind of shit to happen. Not in his town.
To be continued
Ok, I know that a lot happened here and I'm aware many people prefer fluff over suspense. So, thoughts? I'm curious. Let me know if you want. :)
A few more things:
- Norman is not supposed to be mentally ill here but a psychopath. I know it might not have become entirely clear because his behavior is similar to that on the show, but that's how I imagined it.
- I don't support self justice in real life, an eye for an eye making the world blind and all that, but this is fiction. (Almost) anything is allowed.
- I am very sorry for putting Norma through so much suffering, but I needed what happened to her to be gruesome enough for Alex to kill Norman (and for her to possibly understand it).